


Lull

by orphan_account



Series: Identity [5]
Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has a Justin habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lull

**Author's Note:**

> Completed set of unrelated stories based on themes of duality and identity.

Chris absorbs a lot of information. Sometimes, he thinks his senses absorb too much and he's unable to put into words everything he observes, all the images and humor and ironies that he can discern in many situations. There are always other alternatives other than what he ends up saying, all quickly evaluated and discarded, some actually better than the sound bite that would inevitably make the rounds.

His thoughts race in his head frantically. He's grown accustomed to it, but wonders now and then if there's a way of re-engineering his train of thought.

* * *

 

The bus is heading towards Tulsa and the roads are spare and boring. Sometimes Chris distracts himself from thinking, sometimes not. And it unfolds like so.

He thinks back and remembers her long, flowing hair and her sunny smile that he always returned no matter what and the silky curve of her breast in his hand and her quick mind, her sharp tongue that could lacerate him, love him, lick him, speak bits of foreign languages while in bed with the morning sun about to rise peeking through the white blinds of his room that she once remarked reminded her of ice, and in that room she breathed his name in sighs drowning with pleasure with the faint scent of her perfume in the air, the musk of her in his mouth as he pushed and pushed and never got enough and often wondered if he could even pause for breath, if he should even pause for breath, if he should give them time to catch their breaths because they were chasing something up and down and they could never get anywhere near fast enough to—

He stops himself.

It never does him any good, this reminiscing of the past, so he focuses on concrete details. The sky is overcast. The clouds are gray and white. Justin is trying to clear a level with a particularly nasty boss alien. The roads smearing by like paint, the cars blurring by. JC smiles at him tentatively, a mixture of anxiety and coaxing in that lopsided stretch of lips. Chris smiles back at him and it's not forced through gritted teeth. JC's smile becomes real and humble, because JC is always happily surprised when he makes someone in a bad mood smile back.

Chris looks out the window again, the trees becoming smudges of green and brown.

* * *

 

A hard life often becomes a choice between two extremes or two necessities. He's learned this through experience. He looks at the people around him. Justin's rushing to meet Britney. Joey speaking quickly into his cell phone, having forgotten to charge the battery. Lance teleconferencing. JC sitting, tapping a rhythm with his feet.

Chris looks at plans for FuMan, and knows there's a line of people to whom he could delegate most of his tasks. He knows he can sit back and let the machinery of this company take over because he made sure to get good people. It was almost easy and he has never been very comfortable about that.

* * *

 

He notices and thinks of JC when the bus stops at odd times here and there so that the bus drivers could switch during particularly long drives.

JC's eyes half-lidded, heavy with sleep, his shirt riding up when he stretched his arms to reveal a pale, defined stomach made silvery by glaring white light, his mop of brown hair messy and unkempt, his buck teeth, the way he smiled so sleepily at everyone first thing in the morning, the spectacular way he crashed after concerts, drooping all over anyone who could carry him, the way he sang under his breath and tapped his pencil against his notebook while he thought of songs he knew would never get released as singles because they never seemed right to the people who made these decisions for them and the way he sang snatches of those songs to Chris like the silly catchy one he wrote to be silly and catchy that went I'm so in love with you so let's go to the zoo where we'll look at a cockatoo with a smile on his face, his eyes twinkling, arms waving around in exaggerated motions—

Then the bus usually goes again, and Justin often wants to play.

* * *

 

There are some patterns Chris still goes through and he is aware of them in a distant manner. His life has always consisted of motion. He's suspicious of things that make him want to stop for a little while, so there's always a small degree of wariness when he's with JC.

Justin feels the same way and that was how he and Chris had bonded at first. Justin lived a hard life too, but in an entirely different fashion. They've both come out of it expecting, almost wanting unforeseen complications.

* * *

 

Chris thinks that Justin is an unforeseen complication.

When he's with Justin, it's exhilarating highs and numbing lows. He loves the curl of Justin's hair and likes that Justin has let it grow back and that he dyed it blonde again, the feel of Justin's hair soft and springy in his hands, the coiled tension in Justin's thighs or when Justin's voice became raspy with exertion when Chris would thrust hard and harder until there was no choice but to scream out loud, when he's trapped in that place between pleasure and pain and sees the same in Justin's stormy sea-eyes, or when they're in Justin's house yelling and screaming, Justin's elbow in his eye, his fist connecting with a solid thunk on Justin's stomach as he says motherfucking infant and Justin's catch of breath, and his catch of breath, and then the nights when forgiveness was almost like an aphrodisiac because they were never too sure how it always started and ended, only that it sometimes happens and Justin talks in bed while the lamplight tones down the angular edges of the room and the siren appeal of flesh begins again and it's gasping and moaning and the slick slide of Justin's tongue and the sweet salt of Justin's sweat and oh—

Chris tries to stop himself when he starts thinking about Justin, but he's never really successful.

* * *

 

Brief moments of pause where things are relatively simple Chris rarely considers anymore.

Most of the time, he puts on his boots. He zips up his jacket. He adjusts his sunglasses. He goes on his motorcycle and races, the wind a lovely, resisting force. He makes a mad, reckless dash for Justin's house.

 

THE END


End file.
